


Defenseless Dependent

by foxjar



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Kitagawa Yusuke, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Canon, Romance, Rough Sex, Spanking, Top Iwai Munehisa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25678027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/pseuds/foxjar
Summary: When Akira returns to his hometown, he leaves a mess of broken hearts behind. Yusuke is left confused and without the man who had become his muse. His state of confusion leads him to Iwai's shop one day.The two men clash, but Yusuke isn't willing to give up without a fight. Not this time.
Relationships: Iwai Munehisa/Kitagawa Yusuke, Iwai Munehisa/Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	Defenseless Dependent

**Author's Note:**

> While playing Royal, I decided I wanted Iwai/Yusuke. Here it is.
> 
> Title is from ["One-Eighty By Summer" by Taking Back Sunday](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e2t8-tzNuS8).
> 
> "Other Additional Tags to Be Added" refers to the sex tags I'll be adding as the story goes along. I'll mention in the author's notes of new chapters when I add new ones.

Untouchable.

The word should mean something. Its letters glow green in the early evening darkness, flickering above the shop's entrance.

Usually it's Yusuke's hands that lead him to new places, pulling at every fiber of his being and splaying him across his canvases. Art once loved him, cradled him like the mother he only knows through the elegance of the Sayuri. But lately it's been his feet that guide him, dragging him all throughout Tokyo as he attempts to recapture the passion he has lost.

There was the park where he and Akira took to the water so that Yusuke could sketch; the small boat had swayed, but his heart remained firm. In Kanda, the church where they had posed, chasing a realistic depiction of anguish. So many places, so many memories.

In every location, Yusuke left a piece of himself. Now when he visits those same places, he tries to find them. He runs his hands along the pews at the church, tries to find the boat they once used at the park, and drinks the same coffee from Leblanc.

And yet the pieces he lost remain disjointed and just out of his reach.

The word "untouchable" is meaningless. Empty. Akira isn't untouchable; he's just gone, back to his hometown of Kamogawa. Despite all of the time they spent together over the past year, Akira rarely spoke of his home. What are his parents like? How did his friends feel about Akira being forced to stay in Tokyo for a year?

Yusuke thinks he knows at least a few of Akira's many facets: the falsely accused student, the Joker, the man with the warmest smile he has ever known. But who came before that? What kind of life had he left behind — and later returned to?

The more time Yusuke spends away from Akira, the more he seems like he's on another plane of existence entirely. If Yusuke could reach out and touch him, it wouldn't be so bad. Dissociation wouldn't be clutching at him like a second skin, trying to worm its way into his life and make him feel like this is all how it's supposed to be, like a punishment for some perceived crime.

A sense of worthlessness is what finally pushes him to step inside the strange shop — Untouchable. Yusuke doesn't deserve to have the real Akira by his side, but he can chase his shadow, reliving one memory at a time.

The bell on the door chimes and Yusuke straightens his back. A cool breeze greets him, and he lets out a deep breath as his eyes dart around the dark shop, crowded with displays.

Yusuke once told Akira that he'd visit him more if he bought an air conditioner. He said it offhandedly at the time, but now that Akira is gone, everything he ever said or did seems to come rushing back. Every interaction he had with Akira — every word, every vent — was a minuscule piece of a massive puzzle. Yusuke just hadn't known it at the time.

His reverie has swept him so far away that he doesn't notice the curtain at first, pushed aside to reveal the back room. It calls to him even before he realizes what he's looking at, his curiosity pulling him toward the unknown.

There's a man standing in the small room, crammed with even more merchandise. He's slipping a dark turtleneck over his head, his back to Yusuke as he hums. Covering his back is a sea of tattoos, a mesh of blues and greens and a million other colors. So little of his skin is left unmarred, the color of his flesh almost a rarity upon his own body. Yusuke is still ogling him, the view burned into his eyes, when the man pulls the shirt down over his back and turns to him.

Iwai. The name comes to him in a rush. It's been months since the Phantom Thieves disbanded, but Yusuke still remembers the stories Akira told him about the owner of the gun shop. Once they had been sitting on Akira's makeshift bed, a mattress set upon plastic crates, and Akira leaned over, elbows upon his knees. He looked so deep in thought, but Yusuke could see the smile twisting at the corner of his lips.

"Iwai isn't a bad guy," Akira had said. They had just returned to Leblanc after a day in Shibuya, where they'd run into Iwai. He'd been in a hurry so the introductions were quick, but Yusuke still remembers how relaxed Akira seemed with him. Somehow he was even able to tease the man who provided them their arsenal for delving into the Metaverse.

Yusuke trusts Akira's judgment, despite the glare Iwai now bathes him in.

"The hell are you lookin' at?" Iwai asks, his voice deep and yet somehow unsurprised to see Yusuke standing in front of him, still holding up his hands to frame the sight so graciously provided for him. "You're one of Akira's boys."

Such a term strikes Yusuke as odd. It's as if Iwai is under the impression that Yusuke belongs to Akira in some way. At first, Yusuke can almost feel his heart soaring to places he isn't sure he wishes to trek as a sense of belonging washes over him. Does he belong to Akira — with Akira? He likes to think so. But if they were tied together in such a way, Akira wouldn't have left. Akira would have stayed by his side.

It's selfish, so very selfish, but Iwai seems to see that tie. That longing. Yusuke never meant to wear his heart on his sleeve, but Iwai nods to him. Something in his expression must give him away, something in his slumped shoulders. Maybe the fact that he's here at all tells him everything he needs to know.

"Akira dump you, too?"

Yusuke looks into Iwai's eyes, dark with exhaustion. They are both so tired; their pain spanning a lifetime floats around them in a mist, cradles them and taunts with the finality of a noose.

When Yusuke looks into Iwai's eyes, the abyss is reflected back at him.

* * *

"I wasn't aware you had such an abundance of tattoos," Yusuke says one day. He has his art bag tucked beneath one arm, his feet aching as he shifts his weight between them. Untouchable has become a strange sort of home for him, at which he can pester Iwai, one of his last remaining ties to the man they both yearn for.

Iwai leans over the counter. "Did Akira not tell you about me? What I used to be?"

Yusuke shakes his head. There's the chill of the air conditioning and the smell of cherry lollipops all around him, a seemingly neverending supply.

"Akira wasn't inclined to tell me much," he confesses. Not much at all, it seems. But knowing what he does now about the greed of his own heart, Yusuke isn't sure any amount of divulgence could satiate him.

"Probably for the best, then." Iwai straightens his back, returning to his darkened corner of the shop. But Yusuke doesn't miss the glimmer that crosses his face, that slip of disappointment when he shuts his eyes. His lollipop almost falls from his lips before he manages to bite the stick at the last second.

"What was the manner of your relationship with Akira?" Yusuke asks, traipsing his way through the tiny aisles. He's familiar with every product by now, even if he isn't intimately aware of their use.

Iwai chuckles. "Work."

"Would you be willing to have such a 'work' relationship with me?"

"Would you kindly fuck off?" Exasperation seeps into Iwai's voice, thicker than ever before. Although Yusuke managed to hit a sore spot with his request, he doesn't know how and he doesn't ask.

Still between them dangles the knot, hanging heavy.

* * *

Futaba and Yusuke are the only ex-Phantom Thieves who remain in Tokyo. Everyone else left, pursuing one aspiration or another, so it's just Yusuke and Futaba watching the fireworks. It's summer and the heat is agonizing; despite their yukata, the temperature still soars, even as the last rays of sunset dip into the horizon.

She teases him as she always has, winding her arm with his as they attempt to find a more secluded place to watch the sky. She still doesn't like to be too close to strangers, and he can't fault her for that.

The fireworks fill the night sky with brilliant light, and Yusuke thinks of Akira. Is he watching fireworks over in Kamogawa? Is he gazing upon this same sky?

Yusuke's chest is tight, his hands clammy at his sides. He sought out anguish, and yet here it is, choking him. Is this how Futaba feels when she has to talk to strangers? Anxiety is nothing new to Yusuke, but this is different. This is an agony that clutches at him, squeezing him and refusing to let go.

He wishes Iwai were here with them. Although Yusuke doubts he'll ever truly understand what makes him tick, he's been spending more and more time slinking around Untouchable. Iwai is never afraid to tell him to buck up, to stop moping, because somewhere deep down, he feels the same. They are united in their pain, and instead of looking inward, Iwai lashes out at Yusuke.

_How strange. For that to be what I look forward to on such a magnificent night as this._

Once the fireworks cease, Yusuke escorts Futaba home with little fuss. It's only when they're inside that she turns on him, jabbing her finger playfully at his chest.

"Something's up," she says, her tone accusatory. "You're different."

Yusuke almost wants to tell her everything — about meeting Iwai, about the eternal pull he feels toward their long-gone comrade — but he doesn't. He doesn't have the words to explain the pain in his chest. Not yet.

"Is it about Akira?" she asks, and silence fills the house. She already knows. "I miss him, too."

Before leaving, he stops by the bathroom. Some excuse left his lips, but he isn't even sure what it was anymore. He presses his hands against the cool wall and leans over, staring at the ground. The floor is made of wood, the imperfections of the material making it just as beautiful as any other. If he squints, he can see a shape in the wood. A face.

But not just any face. He's dreamt of this face for months now, coming up on a year now. Those glasses, that smirk, the way his hair curls in the rain.

Pareidolia.

Yusuke laughs to himself, but knowing the cause doesn't make it any easier. His hands shake, and he feels like he's floating. Nothing feels real anymore.

It is someone else's hands who unties his obi, setting it on the counter before he pulls open the fabric of his yukata. And still the cold walls close in on him, still Akira's wooden face stares up at him. He pulls down his underwear and tucks it into the drawstring bag he brought with him to carry his phone and sketchbook.

He tells himself the hands belong to someone else, but he can't stomach the lie that it's not his heart, beating and throbbing with the desire to touch. To be touched. Yusuke doesn't know what he's doing, but it doesn't terrify him as it once might have. He is merely feeling, living life precariously upon the edge.

Yusuke thinks about the man he is: pitifully average and a vessel with which to create art. Then he thinks about the man he wants to be, the man he thinks Akira might be willing to embrace: adventurous and daring.

Everything but what Yusuke happens to be.

Futaba is suspicious of him again as he leaves — "Can't look me in the eye, huh? Whatcha up to, Inari?" — but his body holds the secret admirably.

Even on the train, he's looking around furtively, watching the tunnels roll by outside the window. Is the man in the business suit ogling him? Does he know his secret? Yusuke shivers. Nobody is looking at him, not really, but he still feels watched. It's only a matter of time until someone looks at him or bumps into him, and somehow they'll know. His eyes will spill his guilt before the words even reach his mouth.

There's no reason for Untouchable to be open this late, no reason for Iwai to still be hanging around, but all of the cards seem to fall in Yusuke's lap. All of them but one, of course: the Joker.

Yusuke doesn't have Iwai's phone number, never thought to ask for it, so his appearance is unannounced. And yet Iwai doesn't greet him harshly; he just sighs, crossing his arms across his chest, biting at the lollipop stick in his mouth.

"You're always coming around here," Iwai says.

It is an observation and not an inquiry; Yusuke doesn't know what to say. What could he tell him? That their mutual bond to Akira is what brings him here, pulling at him like a rope taut around his waist?

"You never buy anything, either."

"That is because I have no money."

Iwai snorts. "I figured. Which brings me back to the fact that you, again, are always comin' in here."

Something about the shop makes it seem tilted in Yusuke's view, so close to shattering, as if he is an interloper peeking in to see the secrets held within. So much about Iwai screams at him to leave, but there is that agonizing pull. That rope.

Yusuke remains.

"I'm not your babysitter," Iwai continues. "I've got stuff to do."

"I never asked you to —"

"Never asked me to what? Watch over you? What else am I gonna do when you're in here moping all the damn time?"

Iwai is on the other side of the counter now, closing in on Yusuke. His back presses into one of the displays, knocking boxes off to thump against the floor. They're so close now that Yusuke can feel the heat of his body, can smell the artificial cherry on his breath.

"Y'know, you're scaring all my customers away," Iwai says.

"No one has come in all day." Yusuke doesn't know this, not for sure, but he takes a stab after having spent hours and days here alone with Iwai, not a single customer to be seen.

"I swear, if you weren't Akira's —"

Again with the possessiveness — Akira's. But Akira's what, exactly? His friend or his admirer, the man who lusts after the dust he left behind? Yusuke doesn't know, and Iwai doesn't seem to either. He grabs the front of Yusuke's yukata, pulling him closer, but they both seem at a loss for words. Irritation still paints Iwai's face as he glares at him, but something is gone. Some whisper of fire.

Yusuke can feel his thumb on his collarbone, the front of his yukata drooping open as Iwai twists it in his hand.

"You still waiting for Akira to come back, huh?" Iwai's voice is venom, icy and unrestrained. A man pressed too far, teetering at the edge. "Thought ya didn't need a mentor. You're always goin' on and on about it. How you don't need someone to lead you through life anymore. Then why the hell do you keep at this? What the hell is the point?"

"Akira once told me that I lack love," Yusuke says. The need to justify his actions gnaws at him. "I presumed that he meant my art, that I lack some form of passionate nuance that has kept me from expressing emotion with a remarkable vibrance. But I was incorrect. Akira was saying something else entirely."

"'Love.'" Iwai snorts. "Of all the things in this goddamn world, 'love' is one thing you have an abundance of."

Before Yusuke can question him, Iwai is pulling him into the back room, his bag tumbling to the floor. He's pushed against a stack of boxes and bent over as Iwai fumbles with his obi. Maybe he'd intentionally tied it looser than before. Maybe something had finally shattered inside him. But he doesn't tell Iwai this. He doesn't tell Iwai anything; he just closes his eyes and basks in the frigid air, his mind rolling. There's the hum of the air conditioner and the feeling of strange, rough hands pawing at his body.

If Akira hadn't left, Yusuke wouldn't be here; their predicament never would have hit this point of no return. But Yusuke doesn't blame him, not truly. Yusuke blames himself for not being remarkable enough to catch Akira's eye, for being so painfully average and pitiful that not even Akira felt compelled to have mercy on him, to placate him with his mere presence.

He hopes Akira's home in Kamogawa is bringing him as much joy as he once brought Yusuke.

Iwai pushes up his yukata after letting his obi fall. He squeezes at his thighs and Yusuke tries to keep his legs from shivering as he braces himself, the act familiar to him in theory but not in practice. Nobody has ever touched him like this. No one has ever even come close. The hands move higher, higher, tickling their way up his thighs. Then they stop, warm against his bare skin.

"The hell is this?" Iwai murmurs in his ear, facial hair scratchy against his neck. "No underwear. Didn't think you were the type."

There are no words to justify it. Did Yusuke really think it would lead to something like this, or did he just want to rebel in such a trivial way, a lust that Akira had sown inside him?

He thinks of the underwear he stuffed inside his bag, both mortified and aroused at the evidence being so close. Right at the tip of Iwai's fingers, if he chose to look.

Iwai unzips his pants before sliding his cock against Yusuke's ass, over and over, making him count each of the seconds as they tick by. Then he's pulling at Yusuke's hair with one hand, his spine arching toward him. His other hand smacks Yusuke's ass, making him yelp; he hadn't anticipated this. But Iwai continues, smacking one cheek until it stings before he switches to the next.

Yusuke knows what he's being punished for: not only for pestering Iwai, but for Akira. Yusuke is the one bearing the brunt of whatever has welled up inside Iwai all this time.

He's scratching at the boxes when Iwai finally presses into him, his cock filling him inch after inch. His legs are wobbly, but Iwai holds him up, squeezing his hips as he fucks him.

"Didn't think you'd be so dirty," Iwai says. Yusuke tries to nod against the boxes, shaking dangerously beneath them. He wants to be someone else, at least for now. Anyone, anywhere. And for now, that just happens to be whoever Iwai wants him to be.

Drool slips from his mouth and onto the box, darkening the cardboard. Another pattern of nothingness. Another pattern of everything.

"Did you let Akira see you like this?" Iwai asks, smacking his ass again, the sound filling the small room. "Did you let him bend you over and fuck you like an animal?"

His relationship with Akira was nothing like that — nothing like this. Part of him wants to defend Akira's honor, to bite back at such a perverse accusation. But Iwai already knows the truth, because it's something he too desires.

"Moan his name," Iwai demands, draping himself over Yusuke's back as he squeezes the reddened skin of his ass, burning with a blissful fire.

Yusuke gasps as Iwai rocks into his prostate, making his toes curl. "I cannot."

"Sure ya can. Here, I'll start." Iwai hits his ass again, harder, faster. His cock drives into him, filling Yusuke's throat with moans. "Akira. Akira. You feel so fucking good. You have no idea how long I've wanted to fuck you like this."

Maybe Akira doesn't know, but Yusuke does; he knows it as deeply as the ache squeezing his chest.

Iwai smacks his ass until Yusuke is moaning Akira's name, his throat scratchy and raw. And still Iwai fucks him, rocking into him even deeper after forcing their mutual love's name from his lips, a symphony of sin upon his tongue.

Yusuke revels in it all: the ache in his muscles, the pleasure rippling through him, and the fact that they both need this now. Even the sting, the burn as he is taken by a man he barely knows.

But Akira knew him, trusted him. So Yusuke offers Iwai his body as he has offered it to no one else. Not even Akira himself.

Would he be disappointed in Yusuke, or would he understand? Yusuke doesn't know anymore; the comprehension he once held of his friend is slipping.

Yusuke is in love with a phantom.

And still he rocks his body back, chasing a rhythm but never quite grasping it. He always seems to miss Iwai's hips, just a moment too late as Iwai pulls away before slamming back inside, shaking the stack of boxes beneath them. They could all topple down and Yusuke hopes that Iwai would keep fucking him, their bodies still meshed midst the chaos.

But then Iwai is pulling out of him, causing a low whine to leave Yusuke's lips, before he drags him over to a chair. Iwai sits down, the chair groaning beneath him. He pats his thigh, the only come hither motion Yusuke needs, and yet he wavers. His legs are shaky, his knees wobbly without Iwai's support; his cock is hard and aching, smearing pre-come across his stomach.

And still all Iwai does is smirk at him, the coyness on his lips an agonizing taunt. Yusuke could turn and leave as if none of this ever happened, and he wonders if part of Iwai wants that. Maybe he thinks he's punished Yusuke enough. But no, Yusuke swallows his apprehension, thick in his throat, before easing himself onto Iwai's lap.

"Such a good boy," Iwai murmurs, running his hand through Yusuke's sweaty hair. He butts his head into his hand as Iwai presses his cock against him again, and Yusuke bites his lip when they're finally one again. It's deeper like this, almost in a painful way, but he lets Iwai guide him, rocking their bodies together before he fully takes control, slamming Yusuke back down on him.

All Yusuke manages to do is clutch onto him, eyes half-lidded as he stares at the man debasing him.

"Close your eyes," Iwai says, and before Yusuke can ask why, he continues. "Pretend I'm him."

The words are music to his ears — an image of Akira passes through his mind, naked beneath him and begging — but it's a strange offering nonetheless. Yusuke refuses, choosing instead to watch Iwai's face as he fucks him, his eyes squeezed tight. Imagining Akira, no doubt.

Yusuke can't blame him.

He reaches down to wrap his hand around his cock, stroking languidly, but with Iwai hitting his prostate, it's all he needs to reach his peak. His nails dig into Iwai's shoulders as he comes, the pleasure shooting through him, his every nerve on fire for a few moments. And when Iwai stills beneath him, filling him, it's unlike anything he has ever felt.

The silence settles in too easily, too quickly. Yusuke's heart is racing, the air conditioning like ice on his skin now that he doesn't have that pleasurable heat to focus on.

Iwai helps him stand, keeping him steady as he reaches for his bag. He doesn't say anything when Yusuke pulls out his underwear, relying on Iwai for support as he slips it back on.

Yusuke doesn't tell him that was his first sexual encounter; it feels too late for that. He doesn't say anything. Iwai picks up his obi and hands it to him, tucking himself away before heading out of the back room.

The last thing Yusuke wants right now is to be alone. He doesn't want to think. But that's exactly what Iwai is giving him an opportunity to do, and when Yusuke pushes aside the curtain to make his way back into the shop, it's like everything has changed. And yet nothing has changed. Iwai is back behind the counter, another lollipop in his mouth.

He doesn't say anything — not until Yusuke is halfway across the shop.

"Don't come back," Iwai says, his voice nowhere near as accusatory as his words. "Don't you fuckin' dare."

Unfortunately for Iwai, Yusuke has never been one to deny his cravings.


End file.
